


Glory of the Arishok

by AnaanEsaamQun



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blow Jobs, Consensual, F/M, Foursome, Gangbang, Gratuitous Smut, Group Sex, Loss of Virginity, Lust, Lusty Qunari Banging, Multi, Pre-Bull's Chargers, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Prostitution, Qunari Smut, Shameless Smut, Smut, Sorry Not Sorry, Tevinter, Threesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 13:35:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4608732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnaanEsaamQun/pseuds/AnaanEsaamQun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before he heads to Orlais and eventually meets the Chargers, The Iron Bull, formerly known as Hissrad, happens upon a Tevinter whorehouse with a most unusual occupant. </p><p>Basically 1001 Nights only Scheherazade's a whore, Bull's the king and instead of the threat of death there's just a lot of hot and shameless qunari smut. I'm not sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glory of the Arishok

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Does it matter?” Kohl-rimmed eyes the color of jade watched him with sly amusement. The Iron Bull shrugged, flashed a grin and shook his head, stepping into the room. This one, he noted, was either well paid or had been working for a very, very long time. The bed was enormous – it would have to be, he supposed, in her line of work – appointed with a mountain of decadent pillows and silks. More fabric hung from the walls, red silks drawn over the windows and giving the room a look that was more exotic tent and less cheap Tevinter whorehouse.

She caught his eye the second he stepped in. Dark, long hair cascaded down her back, but when the sun hit it through the open door, it lit up with deep red sparks. She was dressed in a series of layered silks that covered every inch of her until she moved, allowing her to choose, he’d noted, exactly what piece of flesh to expose when. Except for her tits, hoisted up and held high by a series of intricate knots in the fabrics. Those were on full display. Pretty, very pretty, and packed with a set of dangerously appealing, generous curves to boot. She shot him a look across the room that sent a jolt right down his cock and he knew no other would do for the evening. He needed to blow off some steam.

And she wasted absolutely no time, either, nudging the door shut with a delicate foot and spinning to press herself against him and slide her palms up his chest. She was bold, too, looked him right in the eye, plastered her body against his – damn, those were some nice tits – and inhaled his scent, softly stroking his hide. He was just about to swing her to the bed when she stepped away and nonchalantly made her way to a dresser on the other end of the room.

“Clothes off, on the bed,” she ordered, brisk and efficient.

Bull paused. He wasn’t used to being told what to do. “On your stomach,” she clarified, rummaging in a drawer and coming out of it with a small vial of oil in her hands.

She turned to find him exactly where she’d left him, watching her with an expression somewhere between desire and bemusement. Those plump lips twisted in a pretty little frown. “Is there something wrong?”

“Nah,” he said, shook his head and started shrugging off his armor. “—not how you ladies usually operate though, is it?”

Her lips curled up in a smirk he wanted to devour, a throaty laugh sending those ivory tits jiggling. Damn, she was hot. And she knew she was hot. Every move of her body was made to tantalize. “Do you let others tell _you_ how to do _your_ job?”

Bull barked a laugh, dropping his trousers. Her gaze trailed down the scarred and battered length of his body, came to rest on what lay between his legs and stayed there. She licked her lips, flicking her eyes back to his, arching one brow and imperiously gesturing at the bed. Bull slid across the sheets, on his stomach, as requested, head to the side and eyes still on her. “No, I suppose I don’t. But I like to see what I’m paying for.”

She set the vial on the dresser, lifted her hands to a clasp and pulled, shrugging out of the layers of silks and letting them pool at her feet. “Of course,” she breathed, picking up the vial and taking a few slow steps towards the bed, rolling her hips and giving him a good look at her taut belly, round, plump breasts with just a little bit of sag, tipped with dusky nipples that pebbled under his watchful eyes. And then she was on the bed in one smooth motion, straddling his ass, soft skin sliding against his own, hips bucking delicately to grind herself against him once, twice before coming to a halt. She leaned down, and he could feel those nipples graze his back, her fingers seeking his horns, stroking them. He hummed, pleased. “You are tense,” she purred, her breath hot against his ear. He groaned a reply, and she slipped down his back, resuming her perch, and uncorked the vial.

Bull blinked, inhaling. “Where’d you get that?”

“A trader.” Warm oil trickled over his back.

“It smells like—“

“—Par Vollen? Yes. By way of Seheron, I was told.” She corked the vial, setting it to the side, and splayed her palms across his back, rubbing the oil into his skin. Bull closed his eyes, taken back to home, for a moment, to the shores of Par Vollen and the heady smell of incense and blossoms. She kneaded his shoulders, taking extra care to soothe and untangle knots in his back he didn’t even know he had, all the while slowly grinding her cunt against his ass in a maddening series of slow, rolling motions that had his cock rapidly swelling and stiffening beneath him. He groaned, flexing his arms, and she batted them down with a hand, sliding up his back, smearing the oil between them both and coming to rest again against his ear. “I like the qunari I fuck to smell like qunari,” she explained, her voice low, velvet, and suffused with desire.

He wanted to roll over and fuck her there and then. But he also wanted to lie there and let her keep working her magic. The latter option seemed to be working well enough for her, as her flesh continued to rhythmically kiss against his ass, the touch growing slicker and damper by the second. “What is your name, qunari?” she moaned, dragging her tits along his back.

“The Iron Bull.”

She laughed, low and soft, fingers deftly seeking out the tight knots of muscle in his lower back. “You mock me.” And then she shifted back further, swatted his ass. “Roll over.”

He flipped over, far more relaxed thanks to her work, and put his hands behind his head for good measure; let her get a good eyeful of qunari cock at full attention. To her credit, she didn’t shy away, didn’t wince, fuck she didn’t even get that brief, hesitant, “Oh shit what did I just get into” look that most human women her size got once they’d gotten a good look at the size of him full mast. No, the look on her face was hungry. Eager.

All that eagerness was smoldering behind an incredibly coy smile, though, and she deliberately ignored the throb of his cock, instead picking up that vial of oil, plucking the cork from it and letting it drizzle all over her tits. Bull groaned, hungrily devouring the sight. Fuck, she knew what he liked, and she made a show of it, corking the vial, oil dripping from her nipples onto the sheets when she set the thing aside. And then she sat back up and began rubbing the oil into her skin, softly moaning as she squeezed the plush flesh and pinched and rolled her nipples, eyes locked on him and clearly taunting. His cock gave a jerk and began to drool while he watched her, groaning as she slowly spread her knees, slick lips parting, her juices trailing down her thighs.

But before he could even think about moving, about grabbing her, about jamming his cock in that tight, wet hole and having his way, she slipped forward, cradling his shaft between her tits and pressing them firmly together. Bull grunted, his cock heaving between those slippery orbs, kohl-rimmed eyes watching his every movement. “I cannot fit all of you in my mouth,” she purred by way of explanation.

And then she set her pink tongue to the tip of his cock and he saw stars. She licked the head, drawing her tongue across what he’d already leaked and letting it linger there, tasting before swallowing, and continued to sweep her tongue across him with slow, agonizing motions. Bull clenched his fists, tensing while she worked. She was deft, persistent, tracking down every last drop as if it were a prize. “You really like that,” he observed, grunting through gritted teeth.

“Shh,” she replied. She shushed him. Shushed him and slipped her lips over him, sucked him in. Bull groaned anew. This whore knew how to suck, and suck well, each deft pull of her lips accompanied by another deft swipe of her tongue. And those tits, she squeezed them together, pert nipples pointed straight ahead in proud display, used them to stroke his shaft while she devoured what she could. He couldn’t resist them, his fingers sought them out and, when she didn’t protest the movement, he cupped his hands over hers, grazed his thumbs over her nipples and was rewarded with a trill that rippled all the way down his aching cock.

Bull patted her hands, slid his fingers away and contended himself with twisting and thumbing her nipples, pulling one, then the other, watching them stretch and bounce back into place when he released them. Her hips arched behind her, ass in the air, writhing and humping nothing at all as she increased her pace.

She fucked him with tits and tongue, not letting an inch of his cock hit air, pressed between slick flesh and plush lips, warm and wet and fuck, so _tight_ – Bull bucked his hips, unable to control himself, and she moaned around a mouthful of his cock, pumped him harder, and faster still.

He roared, hips suddenly seizing and bucking of their own accord, grabbed a fistful of that silken hair and shot a molten load of cum right down her throat. And she swallowed it, and swallowed again, taking his seed without protest, pulling back at last and letting him buck the last few spurts all over her tits, a stray burst catching her chin. And then Bull collapsed back on the bed, panting, breathless and utterly in awe.

She collected herself, licking her fingers clean, and while he struggled to regain control of his limbs she crawled to the other side of the bed, gathered a towel and cleaned herself off. And then she set to work gently toweling him off as well, wiping the crimson lip-stains from his softening cock and cleaning his thighs, massaging them with brisk efficiency. Once she’d finished, and only when she’d finished, she slid up to press her lips against his neck, nipples still tight and pebbled against his chest, murmuring a soft thank you in his ear before slipping off the bed to find her clothing.

Groaning, Bull rolled over to do the same, tugging on his trousers and glancing over his shoulder. “That…was good. Damn good. Shit, if I didn’t know better I’d swear you were a Tamassran.”

She paused, one hand on the strap of her silks, a flush to her cheeks and a warm, genuine, honest smile flashing briefly across her lips. “You flatter me,” she said. And then she fell silent, thinking to herself for a moment before pinning him with a peculiar look. “What is your name?” she asked again.

“I told you, The Iro—“ She shook her head at his reply, stopping him mid-sentence.

“That is not your name.”

“Oh?” He drawled, tilting his head to stare at her in bemused puzzlement and tossing a heavy pouch of coins on the bed. “I’m Tal-Vashoth. I chose my name.”

Her eyes never left him, not for a moment, though she shrugged the strap over her shoulder, reached for the other. “As you say.”

“What do _you_ say?” He asked, a faint pang of wary tension coiling in his belly.

The whore’s eyes flashed with smug amusement. “I say it has been long since I have seen a qunari in these lands. Longer still since I have seen a Ben-Hassrath.”

In between one breath and the next he had her, wrists clutched in one hand, held high over her head, staring at her with intense scrutiny. “Who are you,” he growled.

She chuckled softly, didn’t struggle or protest. “The Iron Bull? _Really_? That is not the name of a Tal-Vashoth. That is a _designation_ at best. That is the name a follower of the Qun thinks of when asked to choose a name, because they have no other frame of reference, no other way of knowing what name to choose.” He pulled her higher and she flinched, a scant twitch.

“Are you qunari?” he demanded, and she shook her head, silken hair cascading and licking about her shoulders. But there was a flicker of something in her eyes, he could see it. Sorrow, perhaps. Not fear. He lowered her, relaxing his hold just a little, though he kept her pinned between him and the dresser, watching her with curious regard.

She lifted her chin, bared her throat to him. “If you think me so dangerous, kill me now. But your secret is safe, qunari. I am merely a whore, after all. A good whore, but a whore nonetheless. I have no one to tell.”

Bull released her wrists, bracing an arm on either side of her and bending low, staring in her eyes. He watched her a moment more, then stepped away, picking up his weapon, hand on the door. “You’re good,” he said, finally. “Real good. Makes a man wonder what you’re hiding, you know that, right?”

She had her back to him, counting her coins. “Ataash,” she said quietly. “They called me Ataash.”

Bull froze, his interest suddenly piqued. “Who did? Why?”

She glanced back over her shoulder, kohl-rimmed eyes hooded with secrets. “Return to me, when you have time and more coin, qunari, and perhaps I shall tell you.” She licked her lips, jade eyes gleaming. “Or perhaps I shall _show_ you, if you are very good.”

“Oh, you can count on that,” Bull drawled, and made his way out. Despite the peculiar conversation, he felt relaxed, refreshed, the scent of Par Vollen still kissed his skin.


End file.
